The Only One
by Sarah1281
Summary: Molly, Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, Mrs. Hudson, John, Mycroft, and Irene are all convinced that they are the only one who knows the truth about Sherlock and must hide it from each other. Naturally, when Sherlock does come back it all gets rather strange
1. Chapter 1

The Only One

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

Note: So I've seen stories where virtually everyone under the sun is the only one to realize the truth. I started wondering what if they _all_ were. Unfortunately, this means I have to temporarily stop pretending Sherlock is hallucinating his last-minute Irene rescue…

Molly Hooper was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'. She was honored to be trusted with the secret but she also knew that it wasn't affection that had caused Sherlock to tell her. No, he needed someone that knew how to fake a death and while she had never actually done that before and really had no ideas on where to begin – but she had Googled it! – Sherlock knew. Sherlock always knew and he also knew that Molly was very good at following directions.

And why not? It wasn't like she hadn't followed all of his over the years from the super-important 'tell me when this happens' to the kind of demeaning 'you want me to get coffee? Brilliant. Here's my order.' It had been flattering the first time she had realized that he trusted her to record information accurately when a man's alibi depended on it. A little annoying since she had her own work to do and she suspected he often just couldn't be bothered to stay but flattering, too.

And as someone who worked in the morgue her expert opinion was trusted implicitly. If she said that that was Sherlock's body and he was dead then that was Sherlock's body and he was dead. She didn't quite want to know where he got the facsimile but it almost fooled _her_ for a second and she even knew the truth!

But she knew that most of all she was trusted because her ex-boyfriend (it was both deeply humiliating and disturbing but also kind of thrilling to think that she had dated a super villain, even if he was just using her to taunt Sherlock) didn't think that she counted. He'd never even broken up with her, come to think of it, but it had just been sort of understood once John had hesitantly broken the news. It was for the best, probably. She'd also recently found his stash of gay porn. Or maybe that was his way of ending things?

Moriarty would be watching Sherlock's brother and John and Lestrade and anyone else that Sherlock could go to to try to get out of the impossible jam that Moriarty had placed him in: his life or his friends'. But he wasn't watching Molly and it might have been insulting if it hadn't been the one thing that enabled her to save him.

She just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that she could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

* * *

Gregory Lestrade was the only one who knew the truth about Sherlock's 'death'.

He had known – somehow just _known_ – that even as his team had sent him to his superiors to voice their fears about Sherlock and even as he was unable to supply answers to the questions they were shouting to the world, Sherlock Holmes was not a fake.

He had known that man longer than any on his team had (the rate of transfer was a bit annoying but not everyone had even his Sherlock tolerance, let alone John's) and he had been the one to actually get him off of drugs. It sounded arrogant but it was true. Not that it had even taken much doing on his part. For all that he was sure that Mycroft Holmes had tried to get his brother clean – he'd heard something about a kidnapping but didn't want to know – all he had had to do was threaten to refuse to give him any more cases if he was using.

Sherlock only used to escape boredom (and probably to annoy his brother) and with the cases there was no more boredom, at least for as long as they lasted. And it was close but in the end he did love proving to the world how brilliant he was and solving puzzles more than he enjoyed getting high.

Maybe a fully sober Sherlock could have put together this masquerade of Richard Brooks or whatever (and it would certainly relieve his boredom) but he had first met Sherlock when the boy was drugged out of his mind and could barely see straight and he had still been told his entire life story…including the fact that his wife was cheating. He hadn't known that and it was a hell of a way to discover but it meant that there would never be any doubt, even when his job demanded that he act in opposition to his interests.

So no, he had no idea how Sherlock had managed to fake his own death but he didn't need to. If Sherlock were capable of inventing 'Jim Moriarty' and fooling the world then a little matter of pretending to be dead would be easy for him.

He just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that he could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

* * *

Sally Donovan was the only one who knew the truth about Sherlock's 'death'.

She was glad that she did, too, because this way she didn't have to feel guilty. Well…particularly guilty. There was something about driving a man – even a man like Sherlock – to pretend to commit suicide to avoid all the backlash of being a fraud that didn't exactly make her feel warm and fuzzy but it was better than driving a man to suicide. And it would have been her doing, too.

Sure, Moriarty would have been the one to set up the glaring evidence that made it look like Sherlock was behind it all (how had he even managed that? Did he have Sherlock masks he'd made his goons wear or something? Shown Sherlock's picture and pretended to be working for him?) but she had been the one to really make it official and to seek his arrest. Without her impetus, what could the press do? It was all just wild speculation until her move to arrest him had added legitimacy to the rumors.

After all, if Sherlock could have faked Moriarty then why couldn't Moriarty fake Sherlock faking him? It all made her head spin but if one was possible than why not the other? One had to be the truth or maybe a mixture of the two of them. It shamed her to say that the other possibility hadn't occurred to her because it was just too perfect and she really had been afraid that one day it wouldn't be enough.

All throughout the Moriarty trial she'd been thinking how much Sherlock seemed to enjoy himself and how lucky he was that this…this _super villain_ had come along to stave off his boredom. Creating this enemy would stave off his boredom just as well. She'd believed and she'd made everyone else believe, too.

But she knew in her heart that nothing would induce Sherlock to commit suicide. Why would it? He was too fond of himself and keen on lording it over them all how brilliant he was to ever try. John claimed he did it to protect his friends? What friends? He was a sociopath, after all. He may enjoy having those around who were impressed with him so that he might dazzle them all but he didn't love it enough to die for it, no matter what John might think.

She just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that she could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

* * *

Karl Anderson was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

The body had been removed – terrible unprofessional but it _was_ right outside the morgue – by the time that he had arrived. He had been too annoyed at the disturbance of the crime scene to really process much of anything at first and then he'd just been so stunned about Sherlock's death (Because suicide? Him? No, he was far more likely to drive everyone else to bloody suicide first) to think very clearly after that.

But then he'd gotten the details of the fall. There hadn't been much need to, or so it had seemed. There was a witness to it all and you can't really fake jumping off of a building. The morgue girl had identified the body, too, and John had confirmed it once he was done giving his statement. But Anderson, regardless of what Sherlock chose to believe, liked being thorough. Even when he knew what he would find – _especially_ when he knew what he would find – he wanted to be absolutely sure to satisfy the small part of him that would always wonder.

And this crime scene…even without the stolen body it was a mess. John was the only witness who had stuck around and his credibility was shot to pieces. It wasn't just the fact that he was the best friend who would lie for Sherlock in a heartbeat. It was the fact that he had 'just happened' to get a concussion so that he couldn't see what was going on before he even got near the body. It was the fact that a large crowd of people had congregated around the body the second it fell, blocking a clear view and the fact that they had all disappeared later. He knew that some people didn't like getting involved with the police but _all_ of them? There had been at least a dozen by John's reckoning. It was the fact that there was a mysterious ball rolling around the scene but that had seemed to have disappeared since then.

It was the fact that Sherlock was just enough of a sociopath to fake his own death when it was convenient and to not give any thought to the people he'd tricked into caring about him who were left behind to grieve a man who didn't deserve it.

He just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that he could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

It was so naughty of him to pretend to be dead when his friends were hurting. John was back with that psychiatrist again and sometimes she almost swore that he had his limp back. Still, that was Sherlock for you. Always doing what he thought was best even when other people didn't understand.

She had been a part of something like this once before, a long time ago, back when it looked like her husband might not be executed after all. They'd had to pretend that the she had gone missing in order to protect her from men her husband had hired since she was the star witness. It had been ever so cruel to let her family and friends worry but it had been necessary and they'd understood in the end.

The pain was always hard but it was worth it in the end to come back and it would be worth it once Sherlock was back. She was sure that he and John would make up and come back to live together and maybe even finally admit their feelings for one another and John could stop hurting those nice women he dated when he didn't pay attention to them.

It wasn't any particular cleverness or insight that had made her realize that Sherlock wasn't dead. She was just as taken in as everyone else was at first but then that day at his grave she had walked away to give John some privacy (just because Sherlock was dead didn't mean you stopped wanting to scold sometimes or, in John's case, yell at him).

And who should she see, bold as can be, watching John from across the graveyard but Sherlock? Apparently he was alive after all. If he saw her (and he always saw anything) then he didn't show it, just turned around and walked away. That let her know that there was a plan and that for some reason John wasn't to know.

It was hard but she knew that she could do it.

She just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that she could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

* * *

John Watson was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

He was Sherlock's best friend – only friend, granted, but still his best – and the only one who had never lost faith in him for a moment. What kind of friend would he be if he _didn't_ realize that Sherlock had, for whatever reason, decided to fake his death and skip off to do God knew what? Well…probably dismantle Moriarty's criminal enterprise so that was okay. As long as he wasn't being too selfish about it. It would probably be easier to pull off if Moriarty's people thought he was dead.

He just wished that he could have been _told_ but surely Sherlock didn't actually expect him to believe the 'suicide'? Sherlock had been trying to convince him ever since Moriarty had returned that he could be a fake and John just rolled his eyes. It was a little insulting, actually. He'd lived with the man for too long to possibly believe that Sherlock could be faking. And besides, if he'd Googled him he wouldn't have thought that John had a _brother_ now would he? Harriet was very active online.

He was sure that Sherlock knew that he knew, however. Why else would he be talking about magic tricks right before his 'death'? And surely he wouldn't call John to be a deliberate witness at what John was supposed to believe was Sherlock's suicide. He _wouldn't_. Well…he had also drugged John and placed him in a nightmare situation to test a theory not that long ago so…But no. He _wouldn't_. End of story.

And once his head cleared he realized just how ridiculous it was that so much had impeded him from seeing the body. But then, Sherlock could never just do _anything_ simply so why would faking his own death be any exception?

He just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that he could tell them. But no, it wasn't yet time.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

Oh, others may know bits and pieces here and there (Mrs. Hudson had apparently seen him and Miss Hooper and been instrumental in covering up what really happened) but he was the only one who knew the full story. Not, alas, because his brother had seen fit to tell him but there relationship issues were a problem for another time. And of course a pleasant and compliant Sherlock would scare him far more than an angry and resentful – or even drugged out of his mind – Sherlock ever had.

But Sherlock had come to him after his 'death.' He needed resources to take down Moriarty's people while supposedly being dead, of course, and it wasn't like he hadn't already known. Sherlock would never do something as plebian as commit suicide. And if he did it never would have been in such a _common_ way. Sherlock never would have let him know if he hadn't been absolutely sure that he had already realized the truth and if he hadn't desperately needed the need a little help. Not that he would begrudge his little brother the chance to fully destroy that which had tried so diligently to destroy him.

It would be nice if Sherlock could check in every now and again but Sherlock wouldn't be Sherlock if he weren't being difficult and that was what the security people were for.

He just wished, watching the others mourning quietly in their own way, that he could tell them. But no, if he did then Sherlock would pitch a fit and that really wasn't worth the headache.

* * *

Irene Adler was the only one who knew the truth Sherlock's 'death'.

She had believed the news for maybe half a second before common sense returned. She had faked her death perfectly (so perfect as to full the great Sherlock Holmes) once and Sherlock had figured out how she had done it and helped her do it again a second time. After that, well, she'd never believe that Sherlock was dead any more than he would ever believe that _she_ was dead. Even had she been in John's place and watched his body hit the concrete she wouldn't have been convinced. Should she outlive Sherlock she'd probably never realize it.

She let him know that she knew (after all, it wouldn't do to let him think that he was the only one capable of being clever) by texting him another invitation to have dinner. Predictably, there was no response. Men were so rude that way, sometimes.

She'd decided to head back to London one day, mostly to see if she could get away with it. Apparently either no one noticed or they truly were done with her as long as she wasn't there to stir up trouble. And she wasn't. At the moment. That could all change at any second and if they had learned anything of all of her then they would be expecting that. It might be amusing later.

But all thoughts of pleasant diversions fled when she got an answering text from Sherlock. Well…she said answering but it really ignored her question in favor of instructing her to be at a certain place on a certain date. Maybe they could have dinner their after all? If she was right – and she usually was – then she'd enjoy getting to ask him again in person.

Note: Don't worry, the humor's coming next chapter when Sherlock returns.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

"I know it's weird," Anderson was saying when John walked in. The man was clearly exasperated, probably because Lestrade –standing a few feet away – was rather skeptical. "But it is what it is."

"Yeah but why would this body be stolen from the morgue?" Lestrade asked him.

"I don't know," Anderson said, tugging on his sleeves irritably. "I suggest that you ask him. With that smirk, he has to know what's going on."

"Me?" Johan asked surprised. "I'm not smirking."

"I believe he was talking about me," Mycroft's voice came from behind him. "Although I assure you that I was not smirking, either."

John turned around to see Mycroft standing there smiling pleasantly and toying with the handle of his trademark umbrella. He had never run into the man when he was raining and he had a weird urge to do so, just to see if he ever actually used that umbrella that he took everywhere or if it was secretly a weapon or something. Or both. Or maybe he had just been reading too many bad adventure books since Sherlock had left.

"Your default face could look kind of like a smirk," John told him. "And if you don't know what's going on then I will eat your hat."

"You don't even have a hat," Donovan spoke up.

"Then I will find a hat and I will eat it. But that won't be necessary since I know that he knows what's going on," John reiterated.

Mycroft's expression didn't change in the slightest which was a little creepy. "Your faith is touching, John. You aren't wrong in this instance, though." He turned towards the door. "Mrs. Hudson, Ms. Adler, please come this way."

The two women were chatting as they walked in.

John stared at Irene in disbelief.

"I'm just saying, dear, that I don't think that blackmailing the government is very nice," Mrs. Hudson was saying. "And I have to wonder if the kind of person who would do that is very nice, either."

Mrs. Hudson declaring someone was not nice was akin to Sherlock saying that someone deserved to be shot for their stupidity (not that John would ever fetch Sherlock's gun) and a normal person saying that they didn't like someone.

"Well not giving me what I want wasn't very nice either," Irene claimed.

"You're rather missing the point, Miss Adler," Mycroft told her, almost sounding annoyed but not quite.

"Okay, now we have to do with Sherlock's landlady at our crime scene?" Anderson complained. "John's not so bad even if we didn't call him but this is too much."

"Hey," John said, raising his hands but not taking his eyes off of the supposedly dead woman. "I didn't even know that this was a crime scene. I was just looking for lunch."

"And the police tape didn't clue you in that something was up?" Anderson demanded.

"Oh no, it did," John replied. "But then I was curious."

"I think I might have been kidnapped," Mrs. Hudson told them. "But Mycroft was so polite about it that it's really hard to tell."

"I don't mean to brag but that's a talent," Mycroft said modestly.

"You're probably some high-up government man but who the hell is she?" Anderson demanded, gesturing to Irene.

"Her name is Irene Adler," John explained. "She's, as Mrs. Hudson put it, not very nice. And she's also supposed to be dead."

"Right, because that explains _everything_," Anderson said sarcastically.

"Am I?" Irene asked, sounding surprised. "I could have sworn I somehow got into witness protection in America. That's what Sherlock told me at any rate. And you wouldn't _lie_ to dear Sherlock, would you?"

John refused to let himself feel guilty. Since Sherlock had apparently been in contact with Irene he had been keeping secrets, too. And, unlike with John, his secrets wouldn't be designed to protect. "You're not really one to talk about lying to Sherlock, Irene."

"Yes but I'm 'not very nice', remember?" Irene said pointedly.

"How did you even get back into the country? Aren't you wanted for…pretty much everything?" John demanded.

Irene smirked and shook her head. "Oh, no. They let me go and dropped all charges in the hopes that foreign agents would brutally murder me. So very considerate of them."

"Is anybody going to get into the fact that this 'murder victim' came straight from the morgue?" Anderson demanded.

"I can," Molly said as she stepped forward.

John was rather embarrassed to realize that she had been standing there the whole time but he simply hadn't noticed her.

"I was asked to put this here so that it would simply…something," Molly trailed off lamely.

"It's like I'm dealing with crazy people," Anderson marveled.

"Now you know how I feel," Lestrade muttered.

"It's better crazy people than stupid people which is what _I_ have to deal with all the time," Sherlock said, entering the small restaurant well. "Well, unless I'm talking to Mycroft in which case that's almost worse."

Everyone stopped moving, some even stopped breathing.

"Did you hear that?" Mycroft asked, pleased. "He said 'almost' worse. I feel like this is a breakthrough."

Well…nearly everyone.

"Sherlock!" everyone – except Mycroft – cried all at once.

"Yes, hello everyone," Sherlock said disinterestedly. "I'm done taking down Moriarty's criminal enterprise in case anyone's interested and so I decided to come back. I didn't want to have to go through this more than once – well, I didn't want to go through this at _all_ but there was no avoiding it – and so Molly here suggested that I assemble you all and just get this over with. And what better way than to arrange a crime scene and then mention to the world at large that it would be convenient if Mrs. Hudson and Irene Adler were there at a certain time?"

"I think your stalking people thing might be getting out of hand," John said bluntly.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, John," Mycroft said vaguely.

"I always knew that one day we'd be called in to look at a body and Sherlock Holmes would have put it there," Donovan said slowly. "I had expected that he would have been the killer but I still called it."

"Technically, I was the one who put it there," Molly corrected. "Sherlock just asked me to."

Donovan waved her off. "It's close enough."

"Are you, I don't know, going to get fired for this?" John asked, concerned.

Molly smiled at him. "I appreciate the concern but it's fine. My boss is remarkably understanding."

"It's true, he is," Mycroft confirmed. John wondered how much of that 'remarkable understanding' had to do with his interference. It wasn't easy finding people to put up with Sherlock, after all.

"Molly, dear, I had no idea that you were helping Sherlock with his disappearance," Mrs. Hudson told her. "That's very sweet."

Molly blushed. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I had no idea that you knew that Sherlock just disappeared."

"Oh, I saw him at the cemetery one time," Mrs. Hudson explained. "I waved but he didn't wave back."

"I was choosing to believe that you had taken to waving at graves," Sherlock replied. "No one else seems very surprised, either."

"I've faked my death by jumping off a building a few times," Irene announced.

John groaned. "Of _course_ you have."

"You could have asked me for some pointers," Irene told him.

Sherlock sneered slightly. "I did not _need_ pointers."

"I don't know about that," Anderson told him. "I mean, I figured it out and you still think I'm an idiot."

"Now that the IQ of the room has been collectively lowered by twenty points," Sherlock said, sighing.

"You knew?" Lestrade sounded hurt. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did note all of the inconsistencies in my report," Anderson replied. "If you'd read it, you'd know."

"I keep you around to summarize these things," Lestrade said dismissively.

"Lestrade already knew," Sherlock announced. "As did Donovan and John."

That stopped everyone cold.

"Wait, _you_ knew?" Donovan demanded. "That doesn't even…how?"

"Why is it so hard to believe that I can know when apparently everyone else did?" John asked, annoyed. "Even _Anderson_ knew!"

"Hey, it's bad enough I have to take abuse from someone who is legitimately far smarter than me but don't you go starting," Anderson snapped.

"It's about time he admitted that," Sherlock said, pleased. "The collective IQ of the room just rose three points."

"The room is pleased, I'm sure," Anderson muttered.

"Don't lower it again, Anderson, you're doing so well," Sherlock urged.

"You looked so sad, though, John!" Molly told him.

"You cried more than anyone else at the funeral," John countered.

"I cry at sad commercials," Molly retorted. "That doesn't really mean anything."

"So, just so I'm clear, no one here is actually surprised that Sherlock came back?" Irene asked.

"I'm a little surprised that Sherlock bothered to tell us instead of just waltzing back into everybody's life and pretending that he was never gone," Donovan offered.

"How do _you_ know?" Anderson asked, nodding to Mycroft. "And who are you, anyway?"

"Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft introduced. "I am in the government, yes, but I merely occupy a minor position."

Minor compared to what, John didn't even want to know.

"He has _family_?" Anderson whispered, horrified.

"Most people do," Sherlock said dryly. "It's called biology, Anderson. I know you're terrible at what you do but you should at least know that much. I was once able to teach a _dog_ that much." He paused. "The dog _was_ genetically modified, though-"

"Sherlock," Mycroft said mildly. John didn't even want to know. "And I knew because Sherlock is my brother and it's a brother's job to know these things."

"And because he knows everything," John clarified.

Mycroft chuckled. "It's always so fascinating to hear what new silly theories emerge about me. Most of them are Sherlock or his influence, of course, but no one else really has a reason to notice me to that extent."

John translated that as 'If my brother weren't so fond of you I would have had you killed long ago.' And their relationship had actually improved since their first less-than ideal meeting.

"I feel like everyone's missing the obvious here," Donovan told them, shaking her head.

"Are we? Really?" Sherlock asked a bit contemptuously. "Do tell, Sergeant Donovan."

Donovan ignored his tone. "How is it that we all knew and yet none of us noticed that anybody else knew?"

"Well I knew that I was making sure not to tell anyone," John offered.

"You were doing more than that!" Lestrade exclaimed. "You were in therapy again and everything! I was really worried!"

"But not," John noted, raising his eyebrow, "worried enough to tell me that Sherlock wasn't dead."

"You already knew that," Lestrade defended himself.

"But you didn't know that I knew that so you really should have told me," John insisted. "And of course I was in therapy again. I'd look like a heartless bastard if I wasn't."

"That's real dedication, John," Mrs. Hudson complimented.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John replied graciously. "I'm glad somebody appreciates my efforts."

"You whined to your idiotic therapist for a few hours," Sherlock said, unimpressed. "It's not difficult. It's like you're vocalizing your blog or something."

John decided getting offended would be too much effort, especially since Sherlock had only been back for all of ten minutes. "Well, I was without my blog for all of this time in memory of you."

"I guess good things did come from my 'death'," Sherlock said brightly.

"If you didn't pester Mycroft for status updates then I'll eat my hat," John announced.

"You still don't have one," Molly said helpfully.

"I still don't need one," John replied. "But anyway, Lestrade, why didn't you tell me?"

Lestrade looked down and shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I figured that Sherlock had faked his death for a reason and telling people about it would only endanger whatever reason he had for doing it. And it's not like I could prove it, either."

"And so you all independently figured it out or were told or saw me," Sherlock said delightedly, rubbing his hands together. "And you felt the need to hide it from each other. Oh, it's Christmas!"

"I don't know why he keeps saying that," Mycroft confided. "He doesn't even like Christmas."

"I like Christmas just fine," Sherlock argued. "I just dislike how certain people celebrate Christmas."

John decided then and there that he did not want to know anything about how the Holmes family celebrated Christmas. Chances were Sherlock was just talking about the average person but _just in case_…

"You were kind of a jerk not to tell anybody about you not being dead even if they did all figure it out for themselves," Molly said reprovingly.

"Indeed," Sherlock said dryly. "Let's hope it doesn't lead to another witch-hunt the next time I scare a child."

Everyone from the Yard winced.

"Sherlock…" Lestrade began haltingly.

"Save it," Sherlock told him flatly. "Apologies are _boring_."

"You know that this makes the last…oh, year or so a complete waste of time, right? With pretending and comforting people and whatnot?" Anderson asked, annoyed.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this but…you're completely right, Anderson," Sherlock told him. "But don't worry; it wasn't any more of a waste than your years would have been regardless."

And then it was that John remembered why everyone had been so quick to buy Moriarty's story.

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